Curse of the Gypsy (22 page)

She slipped out of the bed and began toward the door, only to be caught from behind and whirled around in his arms. “Tony!” she cried, caught off balance.

“Anne,” he said, winding his arms tightly around her and burying his face in her neck, his voice muffled. “Please forgive me for rushing off like this. If it weren’t for Julius …”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, holding his shaggy head to her shoulder. “Shh, it’s all right, Tony, it’s all right. You will find Julius and take Hiram back to Yorkshire to face justice and then we can … we can talk. About everything.”

He set her away from him again. “Go, before I grab you again.” He turned her away and smacked her bottom.

***

After the quickest of ablutions and a scrape of the razor over his chin to sweep away his heavy growth of whiskers, Darkefell strode across the dewy grass in the gray predawn light. It was a struggle to leave behind his passionate night with Anne to focus on the serious business of forcing the truth out of Hiram Grover. Osei, fortunately, came to his rescue as far as his soiled pillow and bedsheets and his earnest desire not to implicate Anne in their stained condition.

His clever secretary, having discovered the hierarchy of below stairs, swore he would be able to convince the Harecross Hall laundress (money was a powerful inducement) to immediately see to the sheets. He would say his employer had an “accident,” and no one wanted bloodstains to set in white linen. She would not believe Osei, probably, but something must be said and it was the only way to deal with it.

Anne. She thrummed through his blood. He had decided he must be in love many weeks ago, but now he understood it more deeply. He was truly a changed man, made over in a better pattern just for loving Anne. The unhappy truth was, if she decided she would not marry him, he would go mad with fury, grief, longing, and a hundred other shattering emotions. She
must
marry him!

“My lord,” Osei called out, stalking over the dewy grass at an angle to meet him.

“Yes?”

“Lady Anne accosted me with an idea as I was leaving the earl’s chamber.”

“An idea?” he asked, impatient and still moving. “An idea for what?”

“An idea of how to make Mr. Grover tell you where he has concealed Lord Julius.”

Darkefell stopped and searched Osei’s dark eyes. “Well?”

“It was something Mr. Grover said, about having someone helping him.”

“Yes,” he cried. “I remember. And she said, too, that someone must have seen or noticed something in this close community. I thought to begin questioning the villagers and others if Grover still refuses to speak.”

“She firmly believes that at least one of his ‘helpers’ is one of the gypsy men, and she must know better than anyone, I suppose. She’s on her way to the gypsy encampment right now.”

“What? On foot?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“With accompaniment, I pray?”

“No, my lord.”

“Damn her!” he shouted, thrusting one fist in the air. “
Damn
her independent soul. She is too confident by far. I should have tied her to the bedpost.”

Osei looked shocked, then his lips twitched.

“I suppose I shouldn’t say that so loudly, should I?” Darkefell said, glancing around, hoping no one had heard him. He would not soil her reputation with her own people, nor with anyone, even as angry as he was with her. He took a long, deep breath of cool, dewy morning air. “This is her home, so I suppose she knows better than I what is safe and what is not. Grover is confined, after all. Did you know that bastard shot her?” he cried.

“Mistress Mary told me, yes, my lord,” he said.

“Why was I the last to know?” Darkefell growled. “Well, I will see Grover first, then follow my lady.”

“Certainly,” Osei said, joining him and meeting his stride length as they circled the Hall and moved toward the distant shed where Sanderson still stood guard.

“In some ways, Osei, I think you know Anne better than I. You seem to understand the inner working of her mind better than I do, anyway.”

“I do not believe I know her better than you in a personal sense, sir. But I have seen society in a different way than you, my lord. Women—intelligent women—chafe at the bit as much as I do, in my position.”

Darkefell threw him a wry glance as they left the grass and strode down the crushed gravel lane, around, toward the abandoned shed where Grover was being held. His secretary’s slight limp was almost unnoticeable except as an odd rhythm in his gait. “Are you saying women are treated as if they are some kind of elevated servant, as a secretary ofttimes is?”

“In a sense,” he said, his thin, dark face unreadable, his eyes concealed by the glint of sunlight on his spectacles. “In other ways they are treated like children who will never attain the age of majority, never be allowed to make their own decisions. Frustrating for them, I dare say. Why did you make such a comment, my lord?”

He hesitated, but there was nothing he could not say to Osei. “You know much of how I feel about Anne, and know what we did last night. My hope is she will marry me now, as any woman in her position would.”

“Did you speak of this, my lord? Did she answer your proposal?”

“No. We were otherwise occupied for much of the night.”

“Then I would assume nothing. Lady Anne is incapable of behaving in any way one might expect, if what you expect is a conventional woman’s response. Your belief in my understanding of her is flattering, my lord, but still, I am a man and she is a woman. I think though there are things that bind us, there is a chasm, too, between us, that can never be bridged.”

Darkefell, as they approached the shed, nodded sharply at Sanderson and murmured to Osei, “You’re right about that, I suppose. Sometimes I fear there is no understanding her. She wants things I never expected a woman to want and she has thought more deeply on many subjects than I have, certainly.” He stared at the shed, a small sagging wooden structure some distance away from the other outbuildings near the stables. He had passed the stable, the dairy shed, a gardening shed, and a greenhouse, and they provided a barrier to sound that, if he were to beat Grover, he would need. It wouldn’t do to alarm the household staff.

He turned and stared at Osei. “But I
will
marry her, Osei. Her obstinacy makes me long for the days of the Sabine abduction. I could just carry her off and force her to do my bidding.”

“But still, my lord, the Romans then gave the women their choice, their freedom, and promised them that their rights would be respected.”

“Damn your classical reading. You’re right. There is no pattern for forced marriage there,” he said, with a grin that did not reach his heart. He grew more serious and even pensive. “I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied otherwise, and after last night I know that no other woman would ever do. She’s mine and always will be.”

He forced his thoughts away from Anne and to his wayward brother, Julius, and the despicable murderer, Grover. “First I will see what this fellow will tell me after a night spent in the company of the glum Sanderson. Then, if I am unsuccessful in finding out my brother’s location, I will follow Anne’s path to the gypsy camp.” He strolled over to the taciturn Sanderson. “How is our captive this morning?”

“Moaning about ’ow poorly treated ’e is, milord.”

“Well, we’ll see if I can treat him even worse,” Darkefell said grimly.

Fifteen

The gypsy camp was almost deserted, for the men and older children were absent, doing their daily work for Harecross Hall and other local farmers, and the women were all either gone out to the fields with the men, caring for the younger children and babies, or clustered near a tent where one of the women was noisily giving birth. Anne took advantage of the scattered tribe to creep to the gypsy mother’s cart and stepped up into it unannounced.

“Madam, will you speak to me?” Anne asked of the woman.

The old lady, swathed in colorful quilts, her pallet draped around in scarves, opened her eyes and sat up, her jewelry jingling. Her dark hair, streaked heavily with gray, was in braids that circled her head like a coronet, and an indigo scarf held the braids in place. She stared at Anne for a long moment, then a sly smile lit her lined face and dark eyes. “You have changed, lady,” she said, wagging one finger at Anne.

“I am not here to discuss anything about myself,” Anne said stiffly. Her stomach clenched at the thought that this stranger could read on her face the change in her. Mary, that morning, had said much the same thing as she helped her dress. She felt as though she wore a pennant proclaiming her identity as a new-minted woman, maidenhead pierced, body claimed. Had she shamed her family? she wondered. Was it wicked to not care what others thought about her night with Darkefell? She forced her mind away from the night before, though her thoughts seemed to always return to that subject.

“First, I hope you received my message that we have figured out why you and Robbie and Mrs. Jackson became ill.”

“Yes, lady, is nothing to do with us.”

They talked it over briefly; the gypsies had already disposed of the mushroom muck, and Anne had a feeling they would never trust a gajo’s food again. Anne could only pray that none of those afflicted suffered permanent harm. More important now was Hiram Grover and the question of where Lord Julius was. “I have figured something out, and though I don’t need your confirmation, I have something to say to you.”

The woman became watchful and leaned back on her cushion, a colorful affair of different patches of velvet and satin. She fingered a bracelet of coins around her wrist, for gypsy women wore their wealth on their persons. Her scarf was adorned with gold and silver, too, and she wore a chain around her neck, upon which coins jangled.

Anne leaned forward, breathing shallowly, for the heavy scents of perfumed oils and incense thickened the air. “One of your young men has helped the fat man, the ‘dead but not dead’ man, hasn’t he?”

Madam Kizzy said nothing, but Anne watched her eyes and saw the truth.

Straightening, Anne said, “Hiram Grover is a very bad man. What he has promised, he’ll never be able to do, for he has no money nor any power. He’s a murderer, madam, and I know your people do not condone killing, especially of a young woman who was with child. If I were you I would ally myself with my family and that of the twin gentlemen. If we so choose, we can reward your people.”

“But he is a cruel one, your man,” the old woman said. “If we have angered him, I have no thought that he will do such a thing as reward us.”

“He’s not cruel, he is decisive.” She thought about the last view the old woman had had of Darkefell. “And perhaps a little abrupt,” she amended.

“He dislikes us,” the woman said, her eyes narrowed. “I see it in him, the hatred. He judges us.”

“He’s not an easy man, perhaps, but despite what you may think, he listens to me. You already know my father does what I say and so it is with the dark lord.” She smiled, using every bit of Thespis’s talent to inject an assuredness into her look. “He will do whatever I ask.”

“Is that so? Among my people no man would listen to a woman because they had lain together, but perhaps among your people it is so?”

“That’s not why he will listen to me!” Anne exclaimed, then calmed herself, and continued, “He is a reasonable man and here, in my home, he defers to my knowledge of the gypsy folk and your ways.”

Madam Kizzy was silent. Anne could see the process in the woman’s mind, the thoughts whirling. Gypsies, from what she had seen in her life, were nominally a patriarchal society, but women often held a surprising amount of power once past the childbearing years, and so it was with this woman. She was the tribe’s seer, their connection to the other world and knowledgeable about this one. She seemed vital to the group’s ability to plan for the future and decide what must be done and how to get along with the gajo community. Her recent problems had been the result of her illness, not an inability to plan ahead and be wise.

The woman finally raised one long finger and waggled it in Anne’s face. “I do not tell you this for him, the dark lord, but because I see in your eyes honesty. I have been troubled by this for some days now, but did not know if we could really trust you. My son, Bo, approached the man, saying he wished to help him. I sent him, for I thought we must understand what the fat man was doing. I did not trust him.”

A surge of triumph coursed through Anne, but she was careful not to show any emotion. “You are wise, madam, not to trust Hiram Grover.” She shut her mouth, willing herself not to ask any questions and praying Tony didn’t follow her right that moment. He had a talent for shutting people’s mouths with his overbearing manner. She had held back information from him herself, on occasion, simply because he commanded her to tell him. He had that unfortunate effect on any woman with spirit.

And that was what he meant when he spoke of his worries if he married a weak woman, she supposed. He said he would hate himself for making his wife over into a cowardly, mindless ninny. Anne must show him that it could go the other way, if he married a spirited woman, that she would soon learn that she could not be honest with him if she wanted to live a life with freedom. That would be their problem if he didn’t soon learn that he couldn’t just forbid her to do things and expect her to obey. Unless he was willing to talk over courses of action and be swayed, on occasion, when she was right, then she must trust her own heart and mind and constantly defy him.

“Madam, trust me, please!” Anne finally urged.

“I will tell you what I know,” the old woman said, fussing with her covers. “But only because I have begun to worry about Bo. That is
his
child being born today,” she continued, waving her hand to the encampment. A woman screamed in the pain of childbirth. “He is not here. He should be here to see the baby and name it.” She moved restlessly. “I worry, now, for there are other men, he says. Others from the village, and they are men who do not like gypsies.”

“All right. We have a common cause, you and I, and that is to see those
with
the bad man, your son and my … the dark lord’s brother,
both
safe and with their loved ones. With family.”